Don't Die On Me
by Happy Trash Bag
Summary: Danny lays dying in an abandoned alley, with only Dash there beside him.


**Don't Die On Me**

* * *

"…dash…".

I didn't even see him at first, he was just sitting there. Sitting, back pressed against the wall, one leg pulled up, the other stretched out. I didn't see the torn clothes, his limp arm laying uselessly by his side or his other one wrapped tightly around his stomach. I could only just recognise him, in the faint shimmer of a lantern too far out of reach. Only his face, blue eyes swollen, clear but unfocussed. Those I knew. I saw them every day.

"Fenton?".

What was he doing here? I knew why I was, fingers fiddling with the package of cigarettes in my pocket and with my wallet eleven bucks lighter. But Fenton? It was strange, unusual, unsettling? I stood there for some time, a bit awkwardly.

"What the hell are you doing here?" I called out to him. I wasn't comfortable with him seeing me smoke. I tried to drop it nonchalantly and move my foot to dig my heel into the stub, blowing the last bit of smoke out my lungs into the evening sky. "You deaf? I asked what the fuck you're doing here?".

It remained uncomfortably silent.

"Hey, don't tell me you got robbed." I felt unnerved "That be fuckin' stupid." I laughed a bit, but Fenton didn't respond. He just shifted slightly, letting his other leg sink down and his head fall against the wall, releasing a deep sigh that ended in a wet cough. I froze, remembering the time mom stayed home sick with bronchitis and her lungs filled up with fluid. That all too familiar gargle and gasping for breath.

"Jesus Christ!".

I almost slipped on the wet cobble stones, but didn't want to think about it, since it hadn't rained today, falling down beside him. Dried blood caked his lips as they pulled in a small smile, fresh red still dripping down his chin and making his teeth look a nasty brown in the yellow light.

"Fuckin' Christ. Fenton, Jesus fuck." Had he really been shot?

Breath in, breath out. Slowly he peeled his hand from his side, revealing the ripped flesh and the desperate remains of muscles holding on to one another, contrasting and trembling painfully. My hands immediately flew over to press against the wound, unaware of the large exit wound at the back. I don't think he knew of this himself.

The force of my hands slamming against him pushed him against the wall, earning me a small choked cry from Fenton as he slapped his own hand around my wrist, trying to pull me away again. I hardly felt his fingers claw at me. My horror grew at the sight of the continuum of blood and lumps of fat leaking away between my fingers. I tried desperately to keep his insides on the inside, but it didn't seem to get me anywhere.

"…aa…mh…" His voice was so faint, barely audible above the wind moving around us. He smiled slightly as I kept cursing, digging in my pockets for my phone and calling 911. He slowly began to relax under my touch, half-lidded eyes looking around, as if searching. Maybe he was seeing things. I don't know, but it wasn't a good sign.

"911, What is your emergency?".

"My classmate's bleeding to death, we're at," I looked around in controlled panic "the Sint Bernard Square, behind the, uhm, behind the barber. Hurry up." I let my phone fall to the ground as I pulled Fenton back upright. He started coughing, cheeks blowing up but ending up spitting in my face none the less.

"The fuck did you do? What in fuck's name did you do?".

He wheezed, he laughed, swallowing some of the gunk in his mouth and wobbled his head softly from side to side. I didn't know what to do. He wasn't cold, but most of his heat had already left him, bleeding away between my hands. I forced my eyes to look up at his, but his were still wandering. Sweat slowly slide down his face, devoid of colour and any expression. His dark hair plastered against his forehead and flat on his head. How long had he even been laying here?

"Jesus." Snort dripped down my nose, eyes damp. For fuck's sake, Fenton was dying. What the hell?

"…mmm…".

I gasped as puffed eyes looked at me. Had he been crying himself too? It wasn't unlikely. I mean, hell… This was all just so fucked up.

"…don't…" Wheeze "…open…".

He fell silent, taking in breath after breath as I wished hopelessly for an ambulance to arrive. I wasn't able to pull him up as he slid away against the wall, head falling side to side like one of those toys with heads twice the size of their body. I pinned him against the wall more firmly, leaning myself against him as extra support. He grunted, grimace pulling at his lips, coughing and gasping for air. I focused on preventing him from bleeding out but before I knew it his eyes had shut close.

"Fenton?" Was he still breathing?

"…thermos…" He finally grunted, eyes still closed shut and eyebrows knitted together.

"Why would I care about a stupid thermos?" I asked him, but he wouldn't answers, slipping away in my grasp again but I wasn't able to pull him up again on his ruined shirt. "What the hell am I supposed to do with a fucking thermos?".

He refused to look at me nor did he acknowledge my presence as his face bled into a peaceful mask.

Up and down, rise and fall. I could still see it, his chest moving, I could still see it. Please, please…

I couldn't see it anymore.


End file.
